Page 10 of Exes That Puck
My phone sits beside me on the bed, face up, screen dark. Waiting.
I pick it up, scroll to Zeke’s name, and stare at the conversation. His messages from yesterday look smaller somehow. Less urgent. Like they’re already fading into the past.
My thumbs hover over the keyboard. I could text him. Could ask how he’s doing, if he wants to talk. Could admit that Saturday night felt good but like a mistake I won’t repeat again.
Could be honest for the first time in weeks.
I type:Can we talk?
Then I delete it.
Type:I’m sorry about the other night.
Delete.
Type:I miss you.
Delete delete delete.
I toss the phone across the bed and stare at it. Tears threaten to blur my vision. I’m so fucking sad that we broke up. I can’t lie to myself about that. No one goes into a relationship thinking about how it’s going to end. We actually think it’s going to work out. That because we love someone, we put our differences aside and make it work. I shake my head because it doesn’t always play out that way. Instead it’s always about someone’s needs not being met, communication going straight to hell, and screaming at him, trying to be heard. I know I can’t be with him anymore. There was too much that was said, and it’s beyond repairment. I guess that’s the part that breaks me the most. I wish we could goback to when we first got together. Everything seemed so perfect back then.
And I’m crying. My pillow soaks with my tears, and I wish I had never met him, so that I didn’t have to feel this way. This whiplash. I’ve been through it before with him, but this time I’m standing my ground. We need the space. I need to move on. If everyone is right, there is someone out there for me that’s better.
I lay on my back, imagining that person in the future. He would judge me for crying like this over some college boy, wouldn’t he? Especially one like Zeke.
I force myself to focus on the paper, managing to string together three paragraphs.Go me.The afternoon stretches endlessly. Every sound in the hallway makes me look up. Every notification makes my heart race.
By the time Payton gets back from her study group, I’ve written exactly one page and refreshed Instagram approximately fifty times.
“How’s the paper coming?” she asks, dumping her books on her desk.
“Slowly,” I lie, minimizing the window.
“Want to work together? We could order pizza, make it a study party.”
The offer is tempting. Payton’s company would be a distraction, her steady presence keeping me anchored to the present instead of spiraling into Saturday night memories.
But I also know she’ll want to talk. About the party, about Zeke, about how I’m going to move on and feel better soon. Frankly, I’m in no mood to hear that everything will be okay. I want to wallow in my heartbreak.
“Thanks, but I think I need to focus,” I say. “Rain check?”
She nods, already pulling out her own laptop. “No worries. I’ll probably head to Emma’s later anyway. She’s making dinner.”
“Sounds fun.”
We settle into comfortable silence, both typing away at our respective assignments. But while Payton’s fingers fly across her keyboard, mine barely move. I manage another paragraph before giving up entirely, switching to mindlessly scrolling through news articles and social media posts.
Anything to quiet the noise in my head.
When Payton leaves for Emma’s around six, the room feels cavernous. I consider going with her. Emma always cooks too much, and the distraction would be welcome, but I use the paper as an excuse to stay behind.
Truth is, I want to be alone with my thoughts. Want to sit with the discomfort until it either kills me or teaches me something.
I curl up on my bed, laptop balanced on my knees, and stare at the half-finished essay.
I delete a few sentences that make no sense and close the laptop. I can’t do this tonight. Can’t pretend to understand anything when I don’t even understand myself.
My phone sits on the nightstand, screen black and silent. It’s been hours since the last group chat message. Hours since anyone tried to reach me at all.
